


there's plenty of time to make you mine tonight

by ohmcgee



Category: Batman Beyond, DCU (Comics)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Stripper/Exotic Dancer, Comment Fic, Lapdance, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Pole Dancing, minimum amount of bruce angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-04
Updated: 2015-07-04
Packaged: 2018-04-07 15:42:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,125
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4268946
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ohmcgee/pseuds/ohmcgee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Why don’t I dance for you,” Terry says. “And we can go from there.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	there's plenty of time to make you mine tonight

**Author's Note:**

> written for the prompt: Batman Beyond, Terry McGinnis/Bruce Wayne, AU where Terry's a pole dancer

The thing of it is -- the cold, hard, honest truth that Bruce never wants to admit to himself -- is deep down, he’s just like everybody else. He has needs like everybody else, and he gets lonely, just like everybody else. He denies it, tries to ignore that longing inside of him for as long as he can, but eventually it starts eating away at him worse than his poisoned liver, than the guilt gnawing at his bones. Eventually he gives in.

There was a time when he used to be quite the charmer, when he had gorgeous women flocking to be at his arm, falling into his bed. It’s been at least a decade since he’s spoken to a woman, or a man for that matter, in a way that wasn’t strictly to get information. He’s not sure he even remembers how and for that matter, he doesn’t care to. He’s too old to be wasting time on such nonsense. He has a baser, carnal desire, a simple need for another’s touch, but he’s not interested in anymore than that.

Bruce knows how these things work. A man of his age with his lacking social skills and connections has few options, but they are options. It doesn’t mean he’s happy to be walking the streets of the red light district in the middle of the night, surveying the women on the streets as if he were window shopping for a new coat. It doesn’t feel right. He spent over half his life on these streets giving girls like this decent, safer jobs, saving them from the scum who thought they owned them. In the end, he just can’t do it.

Bruce steps off the street and into one of the nightclubs instead. One of the waitresses offers him a drink and shows him where he can sit and Bruce tips her nicely. It’s a progressive sort of club, though Bruce figures most of them probably are these days, with an equal amount of men and women dancers. There’s a lovely brunette girl who reminds him a little bit of Selina, glossy red mouth and fire in her eyes, a blonde with nice, soft breasts that makes Bruce think of Vicki, but it’s the boy in the corner that catches Bruce’s eye most of all. And he really is just a boy, barely out of school if that, shock of jet black hair and piercing blue eyes, a mouth made for sin and legs that instantly make you think of having them wrapped around you. It’s not only the way he looks though, it’s the way he _moves_ , more graceful and fluid than either of the girls, more flexible than Dick ever was even in his youthful years, and Bruce finds he’s pulling out his wallet before he can even think twice, flagging the manager down and paying for a private room. 

The boy meets him in the V.I.P. room in the back with a bottle of champagne and two glasses, pours them each a glass and sits across from him on the sofa. 

“I’m Terry,” he says, smiling like someone who knows exactly what they do to people. “Wanna tell me your name?”

“Bruce,” Bruce tells him stiffly. “I’m not entirely certain what a private room entails.” It’s better to get the formalities out of the way sooner than later, in his experience. It’s been quite a while since he’s done anything like this and it’s very possible the rules have changed.

Terry grins and drinks the rest of his champagne in one swallow. “I like you,” he says and puts his hand on Bruce’s thigh. “It’s good that I like you.”

“Oh, is it?” Bruce asks, quirking his mouth to one side. Terry’s hand on him is definitely...hopeful.

“Mmhm,” Terry says and rubs his hand back and forth over Bruce’s thigh. “More options if I like you.”

“And what exactly,” Bruce says, dropping his hand over Terry’s, stroking his thumb over Terry’s wrist. “Would those options be?”

Terry grins and from this close Bruce can tell he’s wearing a light coating of pink lipgloss, just enough to make his mouth shine. “Why don’t I dance for you,” he says. “And we can go from there.”

Bruce doesn’t have any argument against that. He was captivated enough watching him on stage, the way he curled around the pole and bent backward, the way his long, slender legs wrapped around it. There’s no pole in this room though and it only takes Bruce a moment after Terry switches on the music to realize this is going to be a different kind of dance. 

Terry moves just as fluidly as he did on the stage, bending his body and arching over Bruce’s lap, only barely grazing his clothing as he gyrates to the music. Bruce’s hand itch to reach out and touch, and he doesn’t think Terry would mind, but he keeps them where they are by his sides, just watches Terry’s muscles flex, watches the sweat roll down the knobs of his spine. 

“You’re very talented,” Bruce says next to his ear when Terry faces him, hands planted on either side of Bruce’s head. 

Terry just smirks and grinds against him and Bruce _groans_ at the contact, unable and unwilling to hold it in. “I try,” Terry whispers next to his ear and drags his ass over Bruce’s cock, so hard now it’s tenting the front of his slacks. The music goes off but Terry keeps dancing, if that’s what it can be called anymore. He’s mostly just alternating from sitting in Bruce’s lap and grinding on him and facing the opposite direction, teasing Bruce with the view of his tight little ass in silver spandex. 

The next time Terry crawls in his lap, grinds his ass down on him, Bruce decides he can’t take anymore. “I want,” he says, hands hovering over Terry’s hips and Terry just nods, makes a soft little sound when Bruce’s hands clasp around his hips.

“You’ve got big hands,” he says, still working his hips, driving Bruce absolutely _mad_ with want. “They’re rough too.”

“I’m sorry, I --”

“No,” Terry says. “Feels good. Kinda want them all over me.”

Bruce sucks in a breath and Terry grins, says, “That was definitely a hint.”

Bruce nods and starts by running his hands up Terry’s bare back, leaves one hand there in the middle and moves the other to cup his throat, slide his hand down his chest and splay his fingers out over his ribs. “You’re too skinny,” he says and Terry laughs. 

“So buy me dinner sometime,” he says and Bruce thinks it's mostly part of the show, but he honestly can’t tell and that unnerves him in more ways than he cares to admit.

“How about breakfast?” Bruce says, flattening the width of his hand out across one of Terry’s shoulder blades. “When do you get off?”

Terry sits back and looks at him for a moment like he’s not sure if _Bruce_ is being serious. “Four?”

“Four,” Bruce repeats. “I can come back then. Thank you for the dance, Terry. It was quite enjoyable.”

Terry looks puzzled, even as he’s grinning, watching Bruce grab his coat and hat. “You’re actually serious?”

“Of course,” he says. “If you don’t mind having breakfast with an old man.”

“Bruce,” Terry says hotly and pulls him in by his coat, presses up against him to whisper in his ear. “I wouldn’t mind doing a lot of things with you.”

Bruce almost breaks right there, almost grabs Terry by his too-skinny hips and sinks down on his old, creaking knees, but if they’re going to do this he’d rather do this the right way. So he clears his throat instead, squeezes Terry’s shoulder and says, “I’ll see you in a few hours.”

 

***

 

The diner isn’t very busy this early in the morning, which is probably a good thing. Bruce is honestly too old to care if he’s seen dining with a stripper, but if anyone from the media had been in there they would’ve gotten hassled and Terry doesn’t deserve that.

Bruce orders black coffee and nothing else, which Terry mocks him for endlessly after he orders a plate of flapjacks, sausage, and hashbrowns. 

“Is this how you normally eat?” Bruce asks, smiling as Terry shovels in another forkful of syrupy pancakes, and Terry just shrugs.

“V’e got a high metabolism,” he says with a mouthful of food.

He doesn’t look much different from when Bruce saw him earlier, his hair is still slicked back and there’s still a bit of glitter clinging to his cheeks, but he’s wearing more clothes, obviously, a white v-neck with a black leather jacket over it and a pair of jeans. He talks while he eats and Bruce finds out that dancing is how he’s putting himself through college, that he has a little brother named Matt and that his Dad died last year, killed by a villain that Bruce might have stopped if his body hadn’t betrayed him by getting old and weak. 

“Change of subject!” Terry says when he notices Bruce getting that far-off look, starts talking about his major in school, which actually works pretty well because his major is art and Bruce starts asking him who his favorite painters are and pretty soon he’s not even thinking about how Terry’s dead father is all his fault.

 

***

 

After Bruce pays the bill he walks outside to find Terry standing by the car, hands in his pockets. 

“So you’re like, the Bruce Wayne, huh?”

“Figured it out, did you?” Bruce smiles wryly and opens Terry’s door for him. 

Terry waits for Bruce to get in and shut the door before he says, “But aren’t you like. Ashamed to be seen with me?”

“Hardly,” Bruce says and turns the car over. “Actually, I imagined it being the other way around. Shouldn’t you be embarrassed to be seen with a dirty old man like me?”

Terry rolls his eyes. “I know dirty old men, Bruce. You’re _not_ one of them.”

“That’s what you think now,” Bruce sighs, staring out his window. “You don’t know all the things I’ve been thinking about doing to you ever since I laid eyes on you tonight.” 

“Well,” Terry says, leaning across the car and turning Bruce’s face to him so he can press his mouth against Bruce’s. “Why don’t you take me home and show me?”

“Terry,” Bruce breathes out and Terry just cups his face, kisses him again, this time parting Bruce’s mouth with his tongue, sweeping it inside. 

“You better drive before we get arrested for doing at least one of those things right here,” Terry grins against Bruce’s mouth and Bruce makes a strangled noise in the back of his throat and throws the car in drive.

 

***

 

They make it halfway up the stairs before Terry pushes Bruce down on one of the stairs and climbs into his lap, biting at Bruce’s mouth as he kisses him. Bruce pushes Terry’s jacket off and gets his hands up under his shirt, makes Terry throw his head back and expose his throat when he rolls his nipples between his fingers and Bruce takes that as the invitation he is, sucks a decent sized bruise on the side of Terry’s neck as Terry grinds down on him. 

Terry moans so pretty when Bruce scrapes his teeth over his collarbone, pushes Bruce’s coat off and unbuttons his shirt, rakes his nails over the scars on Bruce’s chest and starts to unbuckle his belt.

Bruce laughs and grabs his hand. “Bed,” he says and lifts Terry up like he’s nothing when he stands and Terry just wraps his legs around him as Bruce carries him down the hall to his room, pulls Bruce down on top of him when Bruce sets him on the bed. 

“God, you’re _huge_ ,” Terry says between kissing Bruce’s mouth, his jaw, his throat, mapping his hand down the scars on his chest. “What are all these scars from?”

“Maybe I’ll tell you one day,” Bruce murmurs into Terry’s skin and bites at his mouth.

“Yeah,” Terry says. “One day.” Then he gets Bruce’s belt out, pushes Bruce’s pants off his hips and gets his hand around his cock. “Good to know everything’s proportionate. Jesus.”

Bruce just growls against Terry’s mouth and ruts into the tight circle of his fist. It’s been too long -- _so_ long -- that just that, someone else’s touch, is shaking things loose in him he didn’t even know he could still feel. 

“I want,” Bruce murmurs across Terry’s jaw, eyelids fluttering as Terry licks the shell of his ear, at how soft and tight his hand is around him. “All of you.”

“So take me,” Terry says and Bruce growls into his neck, thumbs Terry’s jeans open and yanks them off his hips along with his briefs. He wants -- god, he wants so _much._ He wants to put his mouth all over every inch of Terry he can see, wants to taste him in his mouth, feel him shudder beneath him and swallow every drop of him down. But it’s been too long and he’s impatient and so is Terry.

“Where’s the --”

“Second drawer,” Bruce says and Terry leans back, digs around blindly until he finds the condoms and lubricant, tosses Bruce the condom and slicks his own fingers up.

“I got this,” he winks at Bruce and Bruce just stands there, condom half torn open and stares as Terry starts to work himself open, the way his eyes go sort of glazed over and his mouth falls open when he gets three fingers inside of him. 

“My god,” Bruce says, finally remembering to roll the condom on and crawls up the bed toward Terry, puts his hands on in the inside of his thighs as he watches him. Then he licks his lips, pushes his thumb inside along with Terry’s fingers and Terry moans out his name, says, “God, fuck me, Bruce,” and Bruce doesn’t have to be told twice. 

He squeezes more lube on himself, pulls Terry’s legs up over his shoulder, and sinks into him.

“How do you feel?” Bruce asks when he thinks he’s all the way in, reaching down to brush some of Terry’s hair out of his eyes.

“Good,” Terry pants, sweat beading up at his hairline. “So full. _Move._ ”

Bruce can’t help but chuckle, turns to press a kiss to Terry’s ankle and slides almost all the way out of him before thrusting in again.

“Oh _fuck._ ”

“Is that good?” Bruce asks and Terry’s eyes just roll into the back of his head.

“God, do that _again_ ,” he groans, so Bruce does, and Terry lets out another string of profanities, then an obscenely pornographic sound when Bruce does it again, hitting his prostate this time. 

“Bruce,” he whines, clenching the sheets in his hands. “Come on. _Fuck_ me.”

“Yes,” is all Bruce says before he grabs Terry’s hips and does exactly that. He isn’t sure who makes the most noise at first, Terry just feels so amazing, so hot and tight and perfect around him, so sweet and beautiful as he looks up at Bruce and begs him to go _harder_ , _faster._ Bruce fucks him like that for as long as he can until his goddamn knee starts to give him trouble and Terry picks up on it.

“Let me,” he just says. “Let me get on top.”

So Bruce pulls out and rolls over and Terry grins when he straddles him, taking hold of his cock and guiding it into him, his mouth falling open as Bruce slides into him. 

“God you feel so good,” he groans out as he seats himself all the way on Bruce’s cock, flattening his palms across his chest.

“So do you,” Bruce says, gripping Terry’s hips and fucking up into him, drawing another filthy noise out of Terry’s mouth. “So perfect. Move for me, Terry. I want…”

“What?” Terry says, just barely moving. “Tell me what you want, Bruce, and I”ll give it to you.”

“I want to watch you fuck yourself on me,” Bruce says. “Please.”

“So polite,” Terry grins, lifting up, and they both groan when he sinks back down. “You’re so polite and me? I’m going to ride you until your _knees_ buckle.”

“God, Terry,” Bruce says, digging his fingers into Terry’s hips as Terry starts to ride him, digging his nails into Bruce’s chest as he lifts himself up and down on his cock, moaning like he’s getting paid to do it, saying Bruce’s name over and over. Bruce runs his hands all over him, up his back, his chest, and Terry sucks Bruce’s fingers into his mouth, moaning around them when he starts bouncing on him, his dick slapping against his own belly, spreading precome all over his abs. 

It’s too much -- it’s too _good_ , and Bruce is right on the edge, but he wants to see Terry first, wraps his hand around Terry’s cock and watches Terry’s eyes blow wide open, feels him go still around him and then _tightsotight_ when he cries out Bruce’s name and spills all over Bruce’s hand, across his stomach and up his chest. 

“God,” Bruce whispers and brings his hands to his mouth, sucks the taste of Terry from his fingers, then grips Terry’s hips and ruts into him three, four more times before he lets out a hoarse shout, drags Terry down on top of him and kisses him as he comes inside of him. 

They stay like that, Terry sucking on Bruce’s tongue, on his lips, until Bruce finally has to pull away ad get some air.

“Holy mother of god,” Terry breathes out, collapsing on the bed next to him, sprawled out and sore. “I don’t think I’ve _ever_ had sex like that before. Jeeeeesus.”

Bruce laughs. “You’re sweet. A liar, but sweet.”

“Not lying,” Terry says, half-heartedly poking Bruce in the arm. “That was. Wow.”

“Thank you,” Bruce says and Terry laughs.

“You don’t have to _thank me_. I just came my damn brains out. I should be thanking _you._ ”

Bruce doesn’t know what to say to that, so he doesn’t say anything, just gets up and grabs Terry a warm, wet rag to clean up with, gets all his clothes off the floor for him.

“I guess you’re kicking me out now, huh?” Terry smirks when he’s gotten dressed. Bruce can still see the hickey he left on his neck; his t-shirt doesn’t quite cover up. 

“Actually,” Bruce says, backing Terry against the wall and pressing his thumb into the bruise, surveying Terry’s throat to see where he could leave the next one. “I was thinking about offering you a job.”


End file.
